


Haze

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Marijuana, Season 2, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6698056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since getting back on the road with Dean, there hadn't been an opportunity. He'd craved it for months after Jess died, the high and the cushion it provided between himself and reality, but over a year had gone by and he'd finally stopped thinking about it.</p>
<p>He hadn't been thinking about it when Dean walked through the door of their latest motel with a little baggie full of weed and no explanation of where it came from, but one whiff of the pungent, earthy scent and it had suddenly been all he could think about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haze

**Author's Note:**

> I blame 11x19: The Chitters for this.

Sam didn't smoke pot very often. The life of a hunter meant rarely letting his guard down. College had been a reprieve from that, a pretty illusion where he slipped into a sense of safety that allowed him to take his first hit from a guy named Jesse. The party had been held off campus — he didn't remember where exactly, just that it was dark and quiet in some musty smelling corner away from the drinkers and dancers. He remembered choking on the first few lungfuls and Jesse's broad hand on his back, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. He only indulged in it a handful of times after that, and two or three of them happened with Jess.

Since getting back on the road with Dean, there hadn't been an opportunity. He'd craved it for months after Jess died, the high and the cushion it provided between himself and reality, but over a year had gone by and he'd finally stopped thinking about it.

He hadn't been thinking about it when Dean walked through the door of their latest motel with a little baggie full of weed and no explanation of where it came from, but one whiff of the pungent, earthy scent and it had suddenly been _all_ he could think about.

An hour later and he was propped up against the headboard, shirtless, legs thrown loose and wide. Dean sat cross-legged between them, knees pressed against Sam's thighs as he sucked in the first hit from their second joint. Sam watched his chest expand through half-lidded eyes. The black material of Dean's t-shirt tightened, and Sam lifted one heavy hand to paw at it.

“Take it off,” Sam mumbled, curling lazy fingers into the thin cotton and tugging.

Dean's eyes narrowed. He released the smoke in a rush.

“C'mon.” Sam tugged one more time before letting go to swipe the joint from Dean's unresisting fingers.

“Sam.” Dean's voice was sharp, but he was already lifting his hands to clutch at the neck of his shirt. “Shouldn't,” he said, even as he pulled it off and tossed it down onto the floor.

Sam pursed his lips around the joint, made a show of it as he pulled the smoke into his lungs. He held it as he watched Dean's eyes widen and his pupils dilate.

“C'mere,” Sam said, tight and hoarse.

They'd only done it once, not long after Dad died. Too much alcohol and grief, and Dean tried to blow it off as some kind of fluke but Sam knew better. Just like he knew exactly what Dean wanted, that this was his messed up way of trying to have it again.

“I—” The rest of Dean's sentence was cut off by a sharp grunt when Sam gripped the back of his neck and jerked him forward. His skin was sweat-damp and warm beneath Sam's fingers.

“Damn it, Sam,” Dean growled, but he didn't try to pull away.

Releasing his lungful of smoke, Sam took a few deep breaths and then sucked in one last hit before dropping the joint into the ashtray on the nightstand.

Dean's lips tentatively brushed over Sam's throat. Sam hummed his approval and tipped his head back, running his hand down Dean's back as Dean worked over Sam's jaw.

“Gonna give it to me?” Dean asked. His gruff tone was far cockier than the careful clutch of his hands on Sam's shoulders, or the soft kiss he brushed against the corner of Sam's lips.

Sam slid his hand beneath the waistline of Dean's jeans, teasing his middle finger down into the heat between Dean's asscheeks.

“ _Fuck._ ” Dean surged forward, grinding their foreheads together as he shoved his hips into Sam's hand. “Yeah, come on, Sammy.”

Sam smiled and pressed his mouth to Dean's soft, soft lips, curling a finger against his hole in reward when Dean groaned and opened his mouth to accept the smoke.

 


End file.
